


At the Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

by armyofbees



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, Kinda, Light Angst, Ocean, Road Trips, Soul Selling, canon-typical "what the hell is going on", mutiny (mentioned), rip the cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: When Bill Turner was dragged into the depths by his bootstraps, the curse was already in effect. He could not die. So rather more time passed between his entry into the Locker and his encounter with Davy Jones than would be typical for a man lost to the depths.





	At the Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

The light faded above him as he sank, the cannon dragging him inexorably downwards. He sighed, dragging a hand over his face, and for the thousandth time tried to climb down his own leg and untie his bootstrap from the chassis of the cannon. For the thousandth time, the irresistible tug of rushing water forced him back upright.

He sank.

 

***

 

He was drifting when he hit rock bottom, lost in memories of his son and wife. The light had vanished hours ago, and the pressure was suffocating.

Lucky, then, that he didn’t need to breathe.

Sighing again, he reached down and fumbled around until he found his boot, swiftly and blindly untying it from the cannon. Honestly, wasting a perfectly good cannon to inconvenience an annoying crewman who couldn’t even die; Barbossa wasn’t going to last a year as captain.

Though it was certainly an inconvenience. The man had no idea where in the ocean he was, and he had no way to get to the surface fathoms above in the time between moonrises. And once the moon rose - well, skeletons weren’t exactly built for swimming, were they? Though maybe the moonlight couldn’t reach him in the depths…

He felt along his chest, feeling hope for a moment as he touched his thick coat - but no, there was his ribcage, plain and hollow. There would be no treading water with his skeletal fingers, and he had never been fast enough to swim miles up in the limited daylight hours.

Sighing once more, he picked a random direction and set out. It would take a while, but eventually he would hit something. And the curse made sure he had all the time in world, didn’t it?

He just hoped he didn’t end up walking in circles, in this infernal dark.

 

***

 

The sea was warmer here, and the fish were strange; he could actually see them, for most of them glowed.

A few of the scarier ones, with their unhinged jaws and dinner plate eyes, went after him, but he ignored them. Being part of a pirate crew - and later, an undead pirate crew of mutineers - made one remarkably adept at ignoring things trying to intimidate you for no good reason. Eventually, all but the most tenacious ones lost interest, and the man walked on.

The sea became cold again, and the glowing fish disappeared; the man found he missed their light and the flutter along his arms and legs when they brushed up against him. Out here, all there was was the dark and the crush and the cold. It didn’t affect him - nothing had really affected him since he’d taken his share of the gold from that god-forsaken chest - but it was still lonely.

And boring. At that moment, the man would have killed for a good story or song.

In good time, he told himself, and kept walking.

 

***

 

There was a greenish glow, in the water ahead. The man paused. This was different from the glowing fish - he’d passed a few more warm spots, and the fish all appeared similar, their colors related. Never had he seen a green so bright, or so… ghostly.

He shivered, but the glow was in his path, and who was he to begrudge a signpost to mark his progress by? And it wasn’t like anything in the world - or this dark place below it - could actually hurt him. He was already damned. There wasn’t much more to do, was there?

Even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn and walk in the opposite direction, that was hardly an option. He stepped forward, towards the glow, and kept walking.

Distantly, he noted that the seafloor was soft beneath his feet. He quietly enjoyed the feeling. This endless journey would be so much worse if the ground were hard, or jagged.

He smiled to himself. Imagine what Will would think of this story! He could hardly wait to tell the boy. And since throwing him into Davy Jones’ Locker probably counted as a dismissal from the crew, he could stay with them.

The man’s smile turned into a self-deprecating smirk. Imagine that, going legit. Become a shopkeeper, or the merchant he’d told his family he was. Undead merchant and family man. There’s a thought.

Well, for his son and his dearest wife, he would at least give it his best shot.

Oh, the glow was getting closer. He was making headway.

 

***

 

Well.

That was certainly something.

The glow was the ghostly aura of a ship. A massive ship, skimming slowly along just above the seabed, rotted timbers creaking as they swayed in the currents. It appeared to be under full sail, except it couldn’t be - it was moving too slowly.

And it was at the bottom of the ocean, but the man had become used to the impossible.

So. Glowing ship sailing perfectly fine in the crushing depths of Davy Jones’ Locker. What to do?

The man did the only logical thing he could think of - when he drew level with the ship, he reached out and grabbed one of the seaweed and barnacle-encrusted ropes trailing from the railings, as they fluttered gently in the currents. He winced, as this was the first time in - oh god, how long had he been down here? It was impossible to tell without the sun - some time that he could clearly see the gaunt bone of his skeletal hand. So it was night, somewhere above. He didn’t know why that was important, but it was.

Without allowing himself another moment of hesitation, he began to drag himself up the rope. As he crested the edge of the ship, a shout went up. Well, it seemed to be a shout - he heard nothing, felt only the vibrations in the water. A member of the crew, indistinct in the dim glow, made their way towards him.

Huh.

Looked like his wasn’t the only cursed crew to sail the seven seas.

The creature before him had the shape of a man, but its head and neck were those of an enormous moray eel. As it spotted him, it reared back, drawing more of itself from the neck hole of the… man’s?... overcoat. It hissed and bared its teeth, before the entire being snaked towards him, the human-looking hands grabbing his wrists.

He couldn’t really bring himself to care. There was a solid deck under his feet, and he could see, and this was the first time he’d stopped walking in god knows how long. Fish people? Okay, he’d run with a crew of islanders who pierced their faces to look like lions, back before he’d signed on with Jack and Barbossa. And after that whole debacle… Well, the deep sea fish hadn’t scared him, why should the people-shaped ones?

The moray man dragged him to the mast, past more strange customers - a shark with feet and hands, a man with a conch shell for a head - and stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder near the middle of the deck. More vibration-shouts sounded around him, and before he could so much as blink, the doors to the captain’s quarters flew open.

Out strode a man with an octopus for a head, and a crab claw for an arm. He stopped before the mast, and looked the interloper up and down, and laughed. It was a horrid sound, like it could have been sweet years ago, but the crushing pressure of the depths and the constant run of harsh seawater along octopus-head’s vocal cords distorted it into pain and anger.

Octopus-head looked the man straight in the eye, and with a voice that may have been scottish once, long ago, surprisingly clear through the water, said, “Bootstrap Bill Turner. What a surprise to meet one of the famous cursed immortals down here in my Locker!” and here he leaned close, like he was imparting a secret, and his coat shifted to reveal the spiky red crab claw that replaced his left leg, “I could break that pesky curse of yours, if you want me to.”

Bill thought about it for a second. He couldn’t really be surprised, meeting Davy Jones; he’d known, since they discovered what the gold did, that he was damned, and would meet the devil one day. Still, to stumble across him at the bottom of the ocean - ah, twas a shame Will would likely never get to hear this story.

“What do you want in exchange?” he asked instead, for he knew Davy Jones hated to let anything out of his Locker, if he could help it.

Davy Jones cackled once again, and clapped his human hand down on Bill’s shoulder. “Ah, you have spirit. All I ask is the usual terms for my assistance - your service, your life… your soul,” here he paused, and smiled a horrible, humourless smile, “Just agree to servitude until Judgement Day, and that pesky little curse will disappear.”

There was silence, for a time, as the glowing ship - the Flying Dutchman - sailed ever onward through the crushing dark. Then Bill shook his head. “Thank you, but I can find my own way out of this - if God forgives me for mutineering and going against the code.”

Davy Jones growled and snapped. “You do not make this easy, William Turner. I am trying to help you.”

Once again, Bill shook his head, and stepped away from the mast. “Thank you for your time, sir, but I will find my own way.” He reached the railing, and began to regretfully lower himself over the side.

“Wait!” cried Davy Jones, angry now, “You have already accepted my help.” He stood triumphant, deformed arms folded as Bill was dragged back up over the side by shark-man and eel-man. Bill just tilted his head questioningly, too tired to really object.

He had been walking for quite a long time.

Davy stalked over until he towered above him and glowered down at him. “I have aided you in your journey, carrying you towards your goal as we stood here, for nothing but the kindness of my heart. You owe me, Mr. Turner, and I only ever accept one thing in exchange.”

Bill sighed, and stood, his skeletal joints somehow aching without tissue. He had known since he’d found out what ship this was that he wouldn’t be leaving, but it had been worth a shot.

“Well, sir, my curse has yet to be broken,” he said, standing as straight and tall as he could under the weight of the miles of water above his head. Davy growled and flicked his claw, and Bill felt a liquid shiver pass over his skin. He watched in fascination as flesh and skin and hair spread back over his bones, as his organs reappeared and rearranged themselves in his torso. He closed his eyes as the pressure became unbearable and shivers wracked his body at the cold.

With the last of his breath, before his lungs reformed within his chest, he turned to Davy. He looked at him, really looked, with his own, weak, oh-so-human eyes, and nodded at what he saw.

“Then, Davy Jones, I swear my life, my service, and my soul to the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, up to and until Judgement day comes upon us.”

Instantly, the water was less crushing, and the cold retreated to a manageable prickle. His lungs finished reforming, and filled themselves with water, and this didn’t seem to bother them a wit.

Davy Jones chuckled. “Welcome to the crew, Bootstrap Bill. Alright, boys, show him how we work!” He spun on his heel and slammed the door to his quarters behind him. The gathered crewmen turned to Bill, then, and the moray roughly grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off, shoving a scraper into his hands and pointing him at a colony of barnacles growing in the corner of the deck. Bill sighed. No matter where or what they were, all ships were the same.

He got to work, and lost himself in thoughts of his son and wife. Given that there were betrayers like Barbossa in the world, Judgement Day couldn’t be far off. He smiled, just to himself.

What a tale this would be to tell to Will.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this wasn't actually written by me. My wonderful beta (@betwixtthemoon on tumblr) and I were watching Curse of the Black Pearl for the millionth time and it occurred to us that Bootstrap was immortal before being thrown overboard, so his adventures in the Locker must have happened. Betwixt wrote it, but she doesn't have an AO3 so I agreed to let her post it here. More of her writing is probably to come, so keep an eye open for any not-angst! (She can't write angst. It is not in her vernacular. This is the closest to angst she gets.)


End file.
